Hogwarts Institute of Parapsychology
by Ynyr
Summary: In 1727 the Prime Minister Robert Walpole appointed a squib named Sir Isaac Newton as the new Headmaster of Hogwarts. By the time Harry Potter arrived there in 1996 the curriculum had changed a bit.


**Disclaimer &amp; Notes**: (**1**) I do not own Harry Potter. (**2**) If you point out any typos, I will try to correct them. (**3**) This story takes place an Alternative Universe, so it will differ from HP canon and muggle history in many ways.

**O—O—O**

"Boy, answer the damn door."

It turns out the man ringing the doorbell on that warm summer evening was a dwarf in a tailored business suit. And it was a very odd business suit: the fabric was iridescent blue, with thick bronze pinstripes. The tie was even worse: it sported dozens of tiny eagles that seemed to be flapping their tiny wings in unison. Some sort of new hologram, maybe?

"Good evening, you must be Harry. I can tell because you have your mother's lovely green eyes and your father's unruly hair."

"My mother's eyes are blue," the confused teenager replied. "May I help you?"

"Of course, where were my manners. I am Professor Flitwick of the Hogwarts Institute of Parapsychology, where I teach Telekinesis. Tonight we will be driving to the Highlands of Scotland where Hogwarts is located, so you can undergo formal testing before classes begin in September."

After hearing these strange words a normal teenager would have laughed or rolled his eyes or made some obnoxious attempt at humor. Harry Dursley did none of those things. He was not a normal teenager.

Instead he asked: "Who do you work for? Is it the Ministry of Defense or the Secret Intelligence Service?"

The dwarf chuckled. "Neither. The Chairman would rather have his fingernails removed with a pair of rusty pillars than report to those fools at Downing Street. No, Hogwarts and the Guild won their independence from the United Kingdom a long time ago."

At some point during this short conversation Harry's parents had finally gotten up from the dinner table, and now they were marching down the hallway like a pair of angry football hooligans.

"Boy, get away from that little freak," his father Vernon bellowed.

That's when it happened. That's when the dwarf casually waved his left hand. That's when Harry learned he was not alone in the world.

His parents suddenly froze. Their legs snapped together, and their arms folded tightly against their chests. They looked like a pair of Egyptian mummies without the white bandages. After a few seconds his father and mother started floating, and they didn't stop rising in the air until they were a meter above the freshly polished oak floor.

"I can't believe you called me a little freak. Are you insane? Nevermind. You both know why I am here." From the harsh tone of the Professor's voice it was clear that last bit wasn't a question.

"Yes, we know," Vernon said as his head jerked from left to right and back again. It was the only part of his fat body that could move. "You're here to kidnap the stupid boy, and take him away to your cult of freakishness."

"That's one way of looking at situation," Professor Flitwick said as he walked into the townhouse. He then closed the door behind him and locked it with another gesture. "Does Harry know anything, or did you stick to the cover story we provided for you back in 1981?"

"I have a cover story? That's wicked."

"Be quiet," his mother hissed before turning her glistening eyes towards their odd guest. "Please don't take him away from us. You'll get him killed, just like you got Lily and James killed all those years ago."

"Who are Lily and James?"

"Lily Potter—whom you know as your late Aunt Lily—was your biological mother. Your father was James Potter, who was one of my best students. The people you think of as your mother and father are in fact your biological aunt and uncle. These facts were kept hidden from the world for your safety," the Professor explained. "By the way Mrs Dursley, you are right. Exposing Mr Potter to our world might get him killed one day. Unfortunately leaving him here in London any longer will definitely get him killed, and you and your husband would die right along with him if the Knights uncovered this address. He is coming with me tonight, and don't think for a minute you have any choice in the matter."

Petunia Dursley started sobbing, and Harry felt a wave of guilt crash over his body. He didn't really like his… _Aunt_. But he did love her. His _Uncle Vernon_… his _Uncle Vernon _he had always hated. And that hatred had been returned in the form of regular beatings during his childhood. Despite its ridiculous price tag, this beautiful London townhouse had never been a happy home for any of them.

"Is Vernon right? Are you really kidnapping me?"

"Kidnapping... that is an ugly word, but an accurate one in this case. Besides, in your heart you want to come with me. Don't you, Mr Potter?"

"Yeah, I kind of do," Harry admitted as he carefully avoided the eyes of his _Aunt Petunia._ To be honest he had spent years and years dreaming about escaping from this miserable place. "Should I go and pack my things?"

"I'm sorry, but personal possessions of any kind are strictly forbidden at Hogwarts. Everything you need for the next four years will be provided for you, free of charge." With another wave of his small hand the Professor unlocked and opened the front door. "It's time for us to go."

"What about them?"

"They will be released once we are gone. Now let's go."

Harry turned to look at his _Aunt _and _Uncle_. Petunia was sobbing, but Vernon's eyes were dry and his face had turned a dark shade of red. "Boy, you were never my son. And now that you know the truth I only have one thing left to say: don't ever come back here. You've have cost Petunia and me enough already. More than you will ever know."

**O—O—O**

Parked illegally out on the street was a black Aston Martin Vantage with black tinted windows. Harry was in a state of emotional turmoil, but the supercharged V8 still got a low whistle of appreciation out of him. No amount of pain can totally eclipse the love a teenage boy has for fast automobiles.

The doors of the Aston Martin opened by themselves, and when Harry got in he discovered a perfectly normal interior. There was lots of hand-stitched leather and shiny metallic accents, but there was nothing abnormal in sight.

"Buckle-up," Professor Flitwick said as he climbed in the driver's seat. "You should know that at Hogwarts we subscribe to a simple credo: the only stupid question is the question not asked."

Harry took a deep breath and summoned his courage. "Alright, how are you going to drive if you can't reach the pedals with your feet?"

"Telekinesis, remember?"

Suddenly the engine started, the steering wheel turned, and the accelerator was pushed down against the floor. All the way down against the floor. Harry knew intellectually that an Aston Martin could reach 100 kph in less than five seconds, but experiencing it in the middle of London traffic another matter. They passed by some of the other automobiles so closely you could see the other drivers picking their noses.

Adding to Harry's terror was this Professor Flitwick. The dwarf was leaning back with his hands behind his head, while his feet were dangling nowhere near any of the pedals. That included, most importantly, the brake.

"And I thought juggling three tennis balls in the air was hard," he muttered.

"That's not bad for someone your age," the Professor said. "When did your Gift begin to manifest itself? Around your tenth birthday, I would imagine. We prefer giving our youngsters a few years to ripen on the vine without any outside interference."

"Actually it started when I was eight. You're driving like a nutter, but no one is honking their horns. Can't they see us?"

"No, we're invisible at the moment."

Harry couldn't take it anymore, so he decided to close his eyes. That didn't help much, since he could still feel the automobile weaving through traffic at an obscene speed. Maybe a few more questions about this whole kidnapping business would distract him from his upcoming death.

"I take it you've known about me and my "Gift" since at least 1981, so why did you leave me with my… _Aunt _and _Uncle _for fifteen years. They hate me. Well, Vernon hates me. I just sort of annoy Petunia. You said the Knights wanted to kill me. Who the hell are they, and do they have anything to do with the death of my biological parents?"

The Professor sighed. "It's a long and complicated story, but luckily the Highlands are four hours away at our current speed. Let's start at the beginning. When your Gift began to manifest itself, what did you think was happening?"

"At first I thought I was a wizard or a sorcerer performing a magical spell, but after a few years I began reading about ESP and other psychic abilities. That sounded like a more reasonable explanation to me than magic."

"I agree. Unfortunately three hundred years ago magic is exactly what the old professors at Hogwarts would have called your Gift."

"Hogwarts was originally a school for wizards?"

"And witches," Professor Flitwick admitted with shame.

The Aston Martin made a hard turn, and Harry almost vomited up his dinner of lamb and potatoes. He needed to ask more questions. "How does a school for wizards and witches get started in the first place?"

In the beginning there were no schools for our kind, the Professor lectured as the Aston Martin made several more hard turns. Back then there were only shamans and medicine men and priests and oracles. These folks from prehistory accidentally discovered what they believed was magic. Some began to search for others with similar abilities to pass on what they had discovered by trial and error. Unfortunately this arrangement between masters and apprentices wasn't very efficient, and knowledge was often lost. The masters were regularly killed in wars or died at a young age thanks to some ancient plague. Meanwhile most apprentices weren't intelligent enough to absorb all the esoteric spells and curses being passed down from one generation to the next.

"Because of these limitations, magic—as they called it back then—remained at a rudimentary level for thousands of years," Professor Flitwick explained. "That changed with the coming of Merlin."

"As in King Arthur's Merlin? He was a real person?"

"Oh yes, he was real and quite the genius. With the help of just a handful of apprentices he somehow managed to synthesize the crude magical traditions of the Egypt priests, the Rome warlocks, the Celtic druids, the Germanic necromancers, and the Nordic rune masters into a cohesive whole."

The history lesson continued as they weaved their way through London: apparently four of Merlin's apprentices decided they were never going to be as great as the great Merlin. So instead of competing individually with the towering reputation of their dead master, they decided to join forces. They seized a large castle deep in the Highlands, killed all its non-magical inhabitants, and then opened Hogwarts for business. Each of the four wizards and witches specialized in teaching one branch of what they called magic, so their new students managed to graduate in just seven years a well-rounded education.

"The Four Founders—as they are called by posterity—did an excellent job setting up Hogwarts," Professor Flitwick explained. "Their educational system lasted for over seven hundred years, and their collaborative research into the nature of magic produced dozens of important advances."

"So what changed three hundred years ago?" Harry asked.

"The rest of the world changed, Mr Potter. And that was a problem, because the wizards and witches who graduated from Hogwarts were more arrogant than ever. They despised the "muggles", which was their crude name for anyone born without magic. In their minds wizards and witches were born to command, and muggles were born to serve. However with the discovery and spread of gunpowder that was no longer the case. Now the so-called muggles had the means to fight back, and they had no compunctions about ambushing wizards or shooting them in the back. None at all."

"Was there a war?"

"More like a series of increasing violent skirmishes that left many dead on both sides. What do you know about Robert Walpole?"

Harry racked his brain for a minute. "Walpole was the first Prime Minister of Great Britain," was all he could remember without access to a history book.

"True, and he created that high office the old-fashioned way: by the use of bribery. Walpole gave the nobles and commoners of Great Britain what they wanted after decades of war, which was peace and prosperity. That included peace with the wizards and witches who were causing so much bloodshed behind the scenes. To secure a treaty between the two side, Walpole gave the Ministry of Magic everything their negotiators wanted, including complete immunity from all muggle laws. Old Cock Robin asked for only one thing in return."

"And what was that?"

"Walpole wanted the appointment of a new Headmaster at Hogwarts. A Headmaster by the name of Sir Isaac Newton. I trust that even with your mediocre education you've heard of him."

"Newton discovered gravity. And the laws of motion. And calculus. And a bunch of stuff about optics. He was also really into the Bible, and he ran the Royal Mint for like twenty years. See, my education wasn't that mediocre."

Flitwick chuckled again. "Mr Potter, there may be hope for you. In addition to his many other accomplishments, Sir Isaac also developed a talent for alchemy in his spare time."

"Isn't alchemy a kind of magical chemistry?"

"Yes, it is. Newton's natural Gift was weak—so weak that he wasn't even invited to attend Hogwarts during his youth. Normally he would have had no chance of becoming Headmaster, but even the most insular of wizards had heard of his many scientific breakthroughs. The Ministry of Magic was also very eager to sign that peace treaty, so they were willing to allow a squib—which is what they called those like Sir Isaac—to serve as Headmaster. He was already 84, and the wizards reasoned that a squib would only last a few months on the job."

"How long did regular wizards live for back then? How long do we live for?"

"An individual with a powerful Gift can live to see 150 years if he or she is fortunate enough. Squibs tend to have a more conventional lifespan, and they rarely make it past their 70th birthday. However after Sir Isaac faked his death in 1727, he managed to hold on for another twenty years as the Headmaster of Hogwarts before his real death at the age of a 104. And in those twenty short years he conjured up yet another intellectual revolution. Now open your eyes. This part of the story is important for you, personally."

Reluctantly Harry did open his eyes, and discovered that they were headed north on the A1 road. The Aston Martin was still purring along at 250 kph, but it didn't seem so terrifying since the four lanes were mostly empty.

"This is why I prefer traveling at night: less traffic," Flitwick explained.

"How did the new Headmaster change Hogwarts?"

"Quite simply, Sir Isaac changed the way those old wizards and witches thought. He proved to them that magic had no real future, but with parapsychology as our guide there were no limits to what we could achieve."

"You see Mr Potter, what old Cock Robin understood—and what the Ministry of Magic never did—was the best way to start a revolution is not to tell anyone what you're planning. Robert Walpole didn't stand up one day and declare to the world that he was going to be the first Prime Minister of Great Britain. Instead he slowly and quietly changed how the government was actually run. After his term of office the most important person in the country was no longer the King or the Queen, it was the person who commanded a majority of the votes in Parliament. In this way Walpole went from being just another one of the King's ministers to being the _**Prime **_Minister."

"As Headmaster of Hogwarts, Sir Isaac did much the same thing. He didn't tell any of the professors that he was going to change how they taught their subjects. If he had done that, they would have just ignored the foolish squib. Instead he simply started asking questions, and he never stopped. How exactly do your spells and charms and hexes work? Are the results exactly the same every time? Can you use rigorous mathematics to represent that happens when you wave your silly wands about in the air? To answer those questions the wizards and witches had to abandon their ancient traditions and their thoughtless suppositions. To really get at the truth they had to try something new. They had to try science."

"How did any of this help old Cock Robin?"

"It helped Prime Minister Walpole because as the wizards started to use scientific methods, they slowly changed from seeing the muggles as a threat to seeing them as a valuable asset to be exploited. To further their research into the nature of magic, the wizards needed the new theories and instruments the European scientists were creating at such a steady clip back during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. As a result violence between the two sides quickly died down."

"When did the wizards finally stop being wizards?"

"It was a slow and gradual evolution," Flitwick admitted. "However if you want to put a firm date on it, I would go with 1868. That was the year the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was officially renamed the Hogwarts Institute of Parapsychology. By then any talk of magic was considered to be superstitious nonsense by polite society."

Harry stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans. They were comfortable, and he wondered what kind of awful uniform he would be forced to wear at his new prison. "I still don't see what any of this history stuff has to do with me, or with the death of my biological parents."

"Bare with me. I'm afraid this is where things get unpleasant, because even as successful as the Newtonian Revolution was, there were still those who continued to champion the cause of ancient magic. Foremost among these reactionaries was a brilliant man named Thomas Marvolo Riddle. Or Lord Slytherin, as he preferred to be called."

"Lord Slytherin?"

"Salazar Slytherin was one of the Four Founders of Hogwarts. Riddle was a direct descendant of that great wizard, so the title is legally justified. But you're right, it does sound ridiculous to modern ears. Even more ridiculous was the name adopted by his devoted servants: the Knights of Walpurgis."

"Wait a minute! You are telling me that my parents were killed by some inbred aristocrat and his lackeys, and that they still want to kill me after all these years?"

"Calm down, Mr Potter." Flitwick glanced over at Harry, and the boy's agitated body suddenly froze in place. "As I was saying, Riddle was a brilliant man and his Gift was strong. Much stronger than mine, for example. But no matter how brilliant Riddle was, he was never quite as brilliant as Albus Dumbledore. Now Dumbledore—who has served as the Headmaster of Hogwarts for many years—is _**the**_ great champion of the Newtonian Revolution. He and Riddle clashed hundreds of times in research papers and at seminars all around the world. And Riddle always lost, which is something the great Lord Slytherin's ego could not tolerate. Finally the man snapped. At first he and his Knights limited themselves to the destruction of property. Then they began harassing well-known Newtonians. These minor crimes only hurt Riddle's cause instead of helping it, so finally in desperation he turned to torture and murder."

"If Riddle was a known criminal, then why wasn't he arrested?"

"First of all, the man was dangerous opponent in combat. Never underestimate the power of a brilliant and determined mind. Secondly, Lord Slytherin had many wealthy and influential friends. Some of whom rank highly in the Guild itself."

"How can someone who goes around torturing and killing people have friends?" Harry asked as he continued to struggle against the invisible energy holding him in place.

"Friends might be too strong a word. Riddle had… sympathizers. What you must understand is that while the Newtonian Revolution was an overall success, we were forced to abandon certain skills that the old wizards and witches took for granted. Take transfiguration for example: wizards use to able to transform rocks into animals and animals into rocks."

"That sounds kind of useful."

Flitwick grimaced. "Not as useful as you might think. But either way, this skill came at a great cost. To perform transfigurations you had to use a specialized tool called a wand, and you had to start using that wand at a young age—preferable around ten or eleven. But once you started using a wand it was almost impossible to stop. The wizards were in fact crippling themselves for life in order to perform transfigurations, a fact which we Newtonians proved conclusively two centuries ago."

"Sadly, Riddle could point to other examples. Wizards use to engineer monsters like dragons and unicorns and trolls. They would then kill those poor monsters and harvest their organs for use in the brewing of mystical potions. The whole process was barbaric, and we Newtonians put a stop to it when the Guild finally replaced the corrupt Ministry of Magic. Riddle argued that we made a mistake shutting down such promising avenues of research, and many still agree with him."

"But my parents didn't, because they were Newtonians like you and Headmaster Dumbledore. Is that why Riddle and his Knights killed them?"

"Well, your mother certainly was a Newtonian. After just one year at Hogwarts everyone knew Lily was destined for greatness. Many assumed that she would one day succeed Dumbledore and became the next Headmistress of Hogwarts. Your father James was intelligent, but he was more of a _bon vivant._ He was only serious about one thing, and that was Lily. He loved her beyond reason. According to the forensic investigation conducted at Godric's Hollow, James sacrificed himself trying to protect you and your mother when Riddle personally attacked your home."

Harry was silent for several minutes as he tried to digest this new information. When he was growing up in London he had honestly thought his… _Uncle Vernon_ would lose control one day and kill him. Petunia certainly wouldn't have been able to stop her husband. Harry would use his weak Telekinesis to juggle tennis balls, but he didn't have enough strength to stop the fat arse during one of his drunken rages. But _Uncle Vernon_ wasn't his real father. His real father James Potter had loved him. His real father had died to protect him.

"What happened to my mother?" he finally asked.

"According to the investigation Riddle murdered her only a few minutes later," Flitwick replied. "He used a vile piece of magic called the Killing Curse. Then he tried to kill you."

"But his magical spell of death didn't work. Obviously."

"No, Mr Potter. It's not obvious at all what happened next on that terrible October night. Riddle might have been insane, but as I said his Gift was strong. You should have died along with your parents. Instead Riddle himself was killed, and no one knows exactly why. Many people in the Guild and at Hogwarts are interested in finally meeting you in the flesh."

"What, are they going to study me like a laboratory rat?" Harry snarled as he continued to struggle against the Professor's Telekinesis.

"No one is going to harm you, Mr Potter. That's the last thing any of us would want to do. However you will be the subject of a few research projects."

"Then why didn't you start your bloody research projects back in 1981. Why did you send me to live with two people who hated me for all these years?"

Professor Flitwick spent the next twenty minutes outlining the parapsychological research into the effect a child's environment has on the development of his or her Gift. According to this research, raising a child without a direct blood relation can have negative repercussions. Or at least it does in a minority of cases. The evidence wasn't definitive.

"You're important to the Guild. Very important. They were unwilling to take a risk with your Gift, which is very strong and healthy by the way. I wish there had been some another option, but James had no siblings and your mother only had one sister. So the Guild provided Petunia and Vernon with the necessary documents to support a cover story, a large townhouse in London, and an even larger Swiss bank account. We thought these bribes would be enough to keep you safe and happy until your sixteenth birthday. We were wrong. I know it's a cold comfort, but on behalf of my peers I apologize for having failed you in this matter. You deserved better from us."

Harry turned away from the Professor and his heartfelt words, and began staring out the tinted window of the Aston Martin. Given their great speed, the nighttime landscape of England was a nothing but a blur. It seemed an oddly appropriate sight—his life was changing at a rapid pace. Was he going to bitch and moan about it like an immature wanker, or was he going to take advantage of what this mysterious Guild was offering? Professors who knew that his Gift was real and could teach him how to properly use it. Classmates (maybe even friends?) who understood what he was going through and didn't see him as a brain-damaged loser.

In the end the decision he made that night wasn't a hard one.

**O—O—O**

"I've read dozen of books about psychic abilities, but so far all you've mentioned is Telekinesis. What else will I be studying at Hogwarts?"

The dwarf smiled, seemingly grateful for the change in subject. He even released Harry from his bindings. "Well, you won't be studying just Telekinesis in my classroom. First you must have a proper foundation in mathematics and physics. Essays are also assigned on a weekly basis, and you will soon come to dread the sight of red ink. Pyrokinesis another subject taken by all first year students at Hogwarts. It is taught by..."

"You teach teenagers how to start fires with our minds?"

"Personally I have as little to do with Pyrokinesis as possible. The dubious honor of teaching the class is held by Professor McGonagall. She is the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, and she won't just be teaching you how to start fires. Pyrokinesis deals primarily with the manipulation of thermal energy. As students you will be taught not only how to melt metals like tungsten, but how to freeze gases like helium. You will also be required to study a great deal about chemistry, and even more about physics."

"I'm not too bad at chemistry, but I don't know much about advanced mathematics or physics," Harry admitted.

"Don't worry, what's why you will be spending the next four years at Hogwarts. Now Healing is taught by Professor Slughorn, who is going to be delighted to see you. He was very fond of Lily back during her days as a student. After you have a firm grasp on biology and organic chemistry, he will teach you how to heal your body when you are injured. Once you've mastered that, Slughorn will begin teaching you how to heal minor injuries in others. However if you choose to pursue a full-time career in Healing, your education will last for at least eight years."

"Eight years of _**organic**_ chemistry?"

"I know, being a Healer wasn't the life for me either. Now Professor Snape teaches Empathy. He is a brilliant man, but..."

"What do you mean Empathy? I want to learn about Telepathy."

"Don't we all. Unfortunately what popular culture thinks of as Telepathy doesn't really exist. Using our Gift we can sense the surface emotions of another human beings, but reading their abstract thoughts is beyond us. You will understand why after four years of studying neuroscience with Professor Snape. Don't be too disappointed though. When you finally master Empathy your life will become much easier in many ways. Trust me on that."

"Fine, what else is on the menu?"

"Invisibility. Now before you start fantasizing about sneaking into the girls' shower, you must know that Invisibility is taught by the meanest bastard at Hogwarts: Professor Moody. Teaching students how to turn invisible is just the start for Mad-Eye. Before he is done he will teach you how to fight while invisible, how to run while invisible, how to swim while invisible, how to sleep while invisible... hell, Mad-Eye even spends a solid month teaching you how to properly urinate and defecate while invisible."

"What's disgusting. Why would a Professor force us to do that?"

"Mad-Eye claims it's a good skill to have during long stakeouts. If you survive Invisibility—and that's not always a guarantee—you will also be taking the most popular class at Hogwarts: Flying with Professor Vector."

"Are you taking the mickey out of me? We honestly learn how to fly?"

"It's one of the high points of your education, if you will excuse the pun. And Quidditch... Quidditch is simply the greatest sport on Earth."

The Professor then proceed to described the rules of modern Quidditch in loving detail. It didn't sound so great to Harry. In fact it sounded crazy.

"...of course it's not all fun and games. Professor Vector will also teach you how to navigate both during the day and at night. That demands in depth knowledge of geography and astronomy. Students are also required to study international law before they are allowed to fly outside of Hogwarts."

"Why international law?"

"It comes in handy, especially when you're flying high under the influence of certain narcotics. Once back in the seventies I was caught by the New York City Police entertaining a young lady on the roof of Studio 54."

"What's wrong with taking a trip up to the roof?" Harry asked.

"It was four o'clock in the morning, and we were both buck naked. Luckily I remembered that I had the right to remain silent during my interrogation at the local precinct. If I had tried to talk my way out of that mess the Guild would have insisted that I go to jail. And I wouldn't have able to use my Gift to escape from Rikers Island either. Let that be a lesson to you, Mr Potter."

"So don't entertain naked ladies on the roof of strange buildings?"

"Heavens no, you should do _**that**_ as often as possible. No, the lesson I was referring to—and I feel certain your father James would have agreed with me on this point—is don't get caught."

**O—O—O**


End file.
